People of the Lightning(127)

Her souls tumbled again, memories soaring down, flashing, then slipping away. For a horrifying instant she could not recall what she had been doing … . Her hand … what was … smooth wood? Yes. She eased out one of the darts and propped it across her stomach. The movements nearly incapacitated her with pain. Her breathing came in agonizing gasps.

More thrashing. Arms shoving grapevines aside. The loops slapped against each other when they fell free, creating an erratic percussion symphony. Musselwhite waited.





Pondwader stepped out of the forest. He carried a dripping net of fish in one hand, and a small basket of sundew leaves in the other. Veering around a clump of palmettos, he quietly walked to his firepit to deposit his net and basket, then shook his long white hair away from his face, and used his sleeve to soak up the sweat that coated his pointed nose and beaded across the high planes of his cheekbones. From the corner of his eye, he saw Musselwhite move. She let out a breath.

Pondwader bounded over to her. “Are you awake? How are you feeling?”

Musselwhite swallowed, and squinted, as if her head rebelled at even that small chore. Silver-streaked black hair stuck to her cheeks in wisps, framing her turned-up nose and accentuating the deep lines in her forehead.

“Better,” she whispered.

Pondwader reached over her head, wrung out the cloth waiting there in the gourd of fresh water, and washed her face. She seemed to enjoy the cool dampness. He kept his touch especially gentle, as light as sea spray, fearing that he might hurt her.

“Are you strong enough to eat?” he asked. “I wove a net from strips of palm fronds, and caught four fish.”

“Yes. I’d … better. To … to build my strength.”

She tried to roll to her side, and a faint moan escaped her lips. She sank onto her back again.

Pondwader stroked her hair soothingly. Perspiration had soaked the strands, leaving it feeling like a river otter’s fur, softer than soft. “I have some mint tea left in the boiling bag hanging from the tripod. I’ll make a fire and get it warm, then cook the fish,” he said. “After we’ve eaten, I’ll tend your wound again.”

“Again?”

“Yes, I cleaned it early this morning.”

“What did it … what does the wound look like?”

He hesitated, not certain he wished to tell her. The scalp had been sliced down to the skull. Once he had washed away all the clotted blood, he’d seen the bare bone gleaming.

She sensed his reluctance and glared at him. “Tell me. Now.”

“The—the warclub cut your scalp. A small portion of the skull can be seen.”

“How small?”

He gestured uncomfortably. “The size of my thumb.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Pondwader … for taking care of me.”

“You needed me to, and I wished to,” he answered. Then he added, “I’ll get the fire going. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You must be very thirsty.”

His long robe rustled as he set about gathering dry twigs from the camp site. Yes, she had lost a lot of blood. Her hair had been matted with it. It had taken him over a hand of time combing and rinsing it with water to clean it. Wind stirred the tree branches, bringing him the musty scents of swamp and moss. He walked back and dumped the wood by the firepit.

“Pondwader?” Musselwhite called weakly.

“Yes?” He looked up.

“Did my father live through the attack on Windy Cove? I—I can’t remember.”

“Oh, yes, Musselwhite. I spoke with Seedpod just before I left. He was very well. Just … sad.”

“And my sons? What happened to Diamondback and Thorny Boy?”

“They both survived.” He swiveled around to frown at her. He had heard that people who endured severe head blows lost their memories for a short time. “Thorny Boy hid in a badger hole in the forest and covered himself with branches. He said Cottonmouth’s warriors ran all around him. Diamondback fought at your side during the battle. Don’t you recall any of this?”

Musselwhite lifted a hand to her forehead and pulled damp strands away. “Some. Pieces of the fight. I remember you bravely walking out … spreading your arms to our enemies. Despite … despite the fact that I told you not to enter the village … until everything was secure.”

“I know, but you needed me. You just didn’t realize it.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a faint nod. “I know that now … . I also remember, Pondwader, that I was … unkind … to you when I returned to camp … after the battle. Sorry. I must have … hurt you.”